


Cheek

by Metallic_Sweet



Series: Body [4]
Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, F/M, Family Dynamics, Fashion & Couture, Gen, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Moral Ambiguity, Power Dynamics, Snow and Ice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-26 02:41:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3833992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metallic_Sweet/pseuds/Metallic_Sweet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sasaki wonders if this is what a real family is like.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cheek

**?.**

Tsukiyama is stocking their fridge.

Kaneki has never watched Tsukiyama do this. He had no reason to. Up until recently, Tsukiyama kept a schedule with stocking for Hinami, Banjou, Ichimi, Jiro, and Sante. It was very fortnight on Saturdays. But this past Saturday, they'd had a lead. It had turned up empty and left Jiro badly injured. They had only just enough left in the refrigerator to make sure that Jiro didn't die of blood loss. Tsukiyama volunteered to get what was needed, which is why he's currently butchering a body in the kitchen.

He's very skilled at it. The kitchen was stocked with a full set of knives, and he's brought over a few speciality tools for this. He's already removed the liver and spleen, which Jiro has already eaten. Tsukiyama is working on removing the rest of the internal organs, his head tilting this way and that as he holds a pair of scissors. It's the first time in this process he's looked puzzled.

"What is it?"

Tsukiyama looks up. Even with the surgical mask covering the lower half of his face, he looks tired. Maybe even stressed. Tsukiyama normally doesn't show negative emotions that don't translate into dramatics easily. 

"The stomach is stapled," he says, and he's openly, honestly upset. "The entire digestive tract is ruined."

Tsukiyama sets the scissors down. He turns half to sink before stopping. Turns back to the body. Turns halfway back to the sink. His hands raise just high enough before he stops them that Kaneki can tell he was about to clutch at his hair. Tsukiyama's eyes have gone very wide. Kaneki is suddenly very afraid that Tsukiyama is about to start crying.

"How is it ruined?" 

For the first time in all the time that Kaneki has known him, Tsukiyama doesn't react. He simply stands there, hands half-raised, eyes massive and staring off into the distance somewhere. It's the first time that Kaneki has seen Tsukiyama completely honest. It's not a pleasant experience. 

Kaneki stands up. "Tsukiyama-san?"

It makes Tsukiyama blink. Once. Twice. He turns his head to Kaneki, blinking again. He looks, if Kaneki had to come up with a word for it, lost.

"Oh," Tsukiyama says, and it's a little high and very airy, "there's a lot of scar tissue. It's edible, but it's not very good. No taste. Oddly crunchy and chewy. I guess it's like jellyfish? Not that I've had jellyfish..."

He giggles a little, looking vaguely alarmed with himself. It makes Kaneki alarmed. They can't afford for Tsukiyama of all people to have a breakdown. Tsukiyama stares at him. He knows it, too. He giggles a little bit more, blinking rapidly. He breathes in, very shallow and long. He's trying to ground himself. Kaneki, for the first time, thinks that Tsukiyama can be very brave.

"Forgive me," he says, voice rising and falling oddly as he picks up the scissors again. "I was a bit hasty with my selection." 

 

**i.**

It is January, and the sun is setting at sixteen hundred.

"What," Sasaki Haise starts, very careful of his tone, "are the circumstances of the Tsukiyama family?"

Washuu Yoshitoki's lips quirk. They are sitting in Washuu's office, which is one of the largest that Sasaki has been to in the CCG. The windows face the west and the north, which makes it dim at this time of the year. It's not as intimidating as Washuu Tsuneyoshi's, which is an entire floor to itself. That does mean that Sasaki is anymore comfortable here. 

"Yes," Washuu Yoshitoki agrees, a note of dry amusement to the word, "you would need to know, wouldn't you?" 

It's a rhetorical question. Sasaki smiles, a bit abashed. The invitation to join the Tsukiyama family in Sapporo for the snow festival is in his hands. There is a response card and envelope. It will be the first time that Sasaki has used his calligraphy pen for something other than CCG testaments. 

Across the desk, Washuu sits back. He folds his hands in front of himself, resting over his chest. He looks up at the ceiling like it has answers.

"As you know, the Tsukiyama family is one of the three private investors in our research and development division. The other two families are the Minamoto and the Ichinose. The head of the Minamoto house for the past year and a half is a woman about your age, Bunko-sama, and the head of the Ichinose house for the past two decades is a man close to my father's age, Shuichi-sama. You may have seen Minamoto-sama in passing when we paid respects at the Tsukiyama estate this summer, although I do not believe you were introduced?"

Sasaki tries to think. There had been a lot of people he'd met those two days in a very short period of time. He shakes his head, uncertain. Washuu smiles, unsurprised.

"That's fine. You'll likely meet her in Sapporo. She and Tsukiyama-sama are agemates, and I suspect the reason the Tsukiyama family is going to Sapporo was likely at her prompting. I trust you do remember Kanae-san?"

Sasaki nods, smiling a little. "The cross young man, right?"

Washuu chuckles, although there's a sad note to it. "Yes. He's always been a bit temperamental, but he's a good kid. I suspect Tsukiyama-sama and Minamoto-sama have arranged something for him since he's going to be coming of age soon, so don't be surprised if you see Minamoto-sama and Kanae-san together publicly in Sapporo." 

Sasaki nods, although he doesn't hide his surprise at that arrangement very well. Washuu doesn't reprimand him, but Sasaki knows he'll need to hide any surprise or judgement. 

"As for Hinami-san," Washuu continues, tapping his right thumb over his left, "she was adopted into the family about three years ago. That's also about the same time that Tsukiyama-sama became ill. I'm not exactly sure of the circumstances, but I suspect that she is another illegitimate child like Kanae-san. Her formal adoption would have been a good investment at that point."

Despite himself, Sasaki can't help but feel increasing discomfort with the bland manner that Washuu discusses this. He doesn't think Washuu is doing it on purpose. Rather, Washuu himself doesn't look particularly pleased, although it's difficult for Sasaki to tell what anyone in the Washuu family is really thinking. It make Sasaki intimately aware how much of an outsider he is, even without the parts of him that are ghoul taken into account.

"I suspect, since Hinami-san is the one who sent your invitation, that Tsukiyama-sama holds no ill-will towards her. If he's at all like when he was younger -"

Washuu stops. He moves his gaze from the ceiling back to Sasaki. There's a slight press between his brows. He hadn't meant to say that last part aloud. After a long moment, he sighs, his shoulders sagging. A defeat. It makes Sasaki sit up straighter.

"He's very different from when he was younger," Washuu says, an odd note to his tone. "If I was to compare the boy who I knew to Tsukiyama-sama now, I would say they hold almost no resemblance. He used to be very dynamic and vivacious. I thought he was slow to read the atmosphere, but now I think he simply opted not to. He was very healthy up until three years ago. Something went wrong with his lungs. Physically, he's fragile, but -"

Something pulls at Washuu's lips. He looks like he's in pain. There's an old, well-nursed longing to his gaze. It surprises Sasaki more than he wants to admit. Washuu looks up at the ceiling again, but his sight looking at something very faraway. He breathes out, a gust.

"There's a hardiness to him that reminds me of his mother."

 

**ii.**

Tsukiyama is standing outside. He has his phone in hand, raised to take a picture of the tree he's standing under. He's alone.

"Good evening, Tsukiyama-sama."

He jolts. Tsukiyama turns his head towards Sasaki, his eyes wide. Sasaki raises his hands, a calming gesture. It makes Tsukiyama smile a little, the bashful, slightly self-conscious look Sasaki remembers when he came across Tsukiyama feeding fish back in the summer. It's such an honest expression in comparison to the cold remoteness that Sasaki has seen when Tsukiyama conducts business.

"Good evening, Sasaki-san," he says, breath escaping in a pale white puff.

Sasaki stops, three paces away. He looks up at the tree. It's covered in snow and small icicles. A few break off in a chill breeze. Next to him, Tsukiyama raises his phone again, tilting it this way and that as he taps at the screen. He isn't wearing gloves nor a hat. His winter jacket sits a little awkwardly around his shoulders. He doesn't fill it out. His cheeks are flushed from the cold. It would make a healthy person look merry, but it makes Tsukiyama's uniquely coloured eyes seem dull. Sasaki really wants to ask if Tsukiyama should be out in this weather.

"What are you taking a photo of?" Sasaki asks instead.

It makes Tsukiyama laugh for some reason. It's a light sound, and he blinks as it tapers off as if he's surprised it came from him. Sasaki finds himself blinking, too. It's the same as when he'd laughed at Sasaki's surprise that he would take the time to feed the fish in his estate's pond. Tsukiyama looks to him, grinning. A few strands of hair are escaping his braid. It has the effect of making him seem very young.

"When I was little," he says, "I used to break off icicles and suck on them. I thought they were ice lollys."

Sasaki's mind produces an image of a miniature Tsukiyama jumping up and down to try and grab icicles off of trees. It's strangely easy to imagine this side of Tsukiyama as a child. It makes Sasaki grin back. 

"Well," he concedes, "you weren't exactly wrong."

Something eases in the set of Tsukiyama's shoulders. His gaze relaxes. It brings a brightness to him that is usually entirely absent. For the first time since Sasaki met him, Tsukiyama seems sincerely happy. 

"I ruined my dinner suit," Tsukiyama says, a soft, confessional tone. "I got into terrible trouble for it."

Sasaki chuckles, thinking back to the other reference he has of Tsukiyama when he was young. Pushing Matsuri into the pond. Good for you, Sasaki had privately thought.

To Tsukiyama, he says, "You make yourself sound like such a troublemaker."

Tsukiyama makes a noise of agreement in his throat, gaze shifting down to his phone. "I was."

Sasaki senses something there. He gets a strange tilting feeling around Tsukiyama sometimes. He watches Tsukiyama shift the phone to his coats' pocket. His hands are shaking. Tsukiyama is shivering. Sasaki opens his mouth as Tsukiyama tucks his hands in front of himself, lacing his fingers together. It looks very neat and polite. It also stops the shaking. It's a very practised motion.

"Would you join me for a drink this evening?"

It throws Sasaki. Makes his stomach twist. Despite good sense, he likes Tsukiyama. This probably isn't a purely social invitation, but Sasaki isn't naïve enough to hope for that. He would really like to, but being what he is - 

"I -"

Thankfully, Tsukiyama appears to understand. He smiles, that gentle, sweet look. 

"I have been informed of your circumstances," he says, a very formal construction but infinitely kind. "I prefer coffee myself."

Sasaki feels himself sigh. It comes out in a white puff in the cold air. He opens his mouth to accept.

"Shuu-sama!"

It makes Sasaki jump. Spin around. Kanae, Hinami, Matsumae, and two women in obviously expensive kimono are making their way up the path to the ryokan. Kanae is at the front of the group, looking a combination of worried and alarmed. One of the women, who wears an unusual black winter kimono, has a hand raised to his mouth that doesn't at all cover her amused expression. The rest of them look a mixture of exasperated and resigned. Sasaki glances back at Tsukiyama, who has a deer in the headlights look. He's certain to be getting an earful. Sasaki feels a sudden rush of sympathy for Tsukiyama.

"What are you doing out without gloves?" Kanae asks, passing right by Sasaki without acknowledging him to fuss over his errant head of house. "Where is your hat? Why aren't you wearing a sweater?"

Tsukiyama sighs. "Kanae," he starts.

"Tsukiyama-sama," Matsumae says, and it's flat and blunt and somehow communicates boundless disapproval without any inflection.

Tsukiyama sighs again, but it's clear from the slight slump of his shoulders that he will give in. He looks to Sasaki, smiling apologetically as he lets Kanae take his left hand. His long fingers are stark pale. He must be freezing.

"Sasaki-san," Tsukiyama says even as he steps back, "I will expect you for coffee at eight?"

Sasaki nods, aware of how suddenly all eyes are on him. He deliberately does not dare look at anyone but Tsukiyama. He doubts there will be any friendly looks. He can see Hinami out of the corner of his right eye, though, appraising him with a gaze that seems to bore though his soul.

"Yes, of course," he says, bowing in the manner that he knows is expected of him. "Thank you very much."

It's only after he's straightened up and the party moves into the ryokan that the Tsukiyama family has rented out that Sasaki realises he's made a grave error. The invitation was personal and singular. Before he came, Mado instructed him not to let himself get into a situation where he was completely at the disposal of any individual member of the Tsukiyama, Minamoto, or Ichinose families. Tsukiyama has essentially secured Sasaki for an undetermined amount of time at his own terms and in his own space. There is no polite way for Sasaki to back out without embarrassing himself.

Sasaki huffs out a laugh, shaking his head at himself as he makes his way up to the ryokan that he and the rest of the Quinx squad have been provided. Tsukiyama is apparently still something of a troublemaker. 

 

**iii.**

"Maman," Saiko murmurs, peering in the doorway to the bedroom, "what are you dressing up for?"

Sasaki looks away from the mirror, fiddling with the two ties he brought. He's already worn the blue with small yellow diamonds in his right hand for the meeting in the morning with Tsukiyama and Hinami, and he had been saving the black with thin silver stripes for the opening ceremony tomorrow. He tries to smile, although he knows that it just makes him more nervous. 

"Tsukiyama-sama has invited me to coffee."

She crosses the room and sits on his bed, blinking at him. Both of her hands hold her handheld, but the screen is paused. She watches him steadily, legs folded under each other.

"You should have brought more ties."

Sasaki chuckles, looking back to the mirror and holding the black tie up. "Yeah. This is too formal for just coffee."

She hums, lips quirking a little. "He's single?"

Sasaki feels his head swing around so quickly the vertebrae in his neck pop. She grins, rather wolfishly, and shrugs widely. 

"Then no need for a tie," she says, entirely blasé. "It's just coffee."

Sasaki bites his lip. He looks back to the mirror. He switches the ties back and forth before sighing, his shoulders sagging. He puts the ties down atop the dresser, looking in the open drawer at the clothing he brought. CCG dress uniform and three suits, two of which are entirely new. Charged on the CCG. Even Arima had told him it was necessary. They really need the Tsukiyama family to renew the research and development contract. With the Minamoto family here as well, Sasaki cannot disappoint.

"Maman."

He glances around. Saiko has her knees tucked up against her chest, her chin resting on her knees. Her eyes are half-lidded, but Sasaki knows she's very aware.

"Don't worry," she murmurs, lying back onto Sasaki's bed. "I'll be right here."

 

**iv.**

When Sasaki arrives at the Tsukiyama ryokan, it is Hinami who greets him in the foyer. Her hair is undecorated for once, reflecting the evening hour, but her lips are painted a light, pleasant pink that shines when she smiles. She has, Sasaki suddenly thinks, such an innocent disposition.

"Thank you for coming," she says as Sasaki switch his winter boots to provided house slippers.

"Thank you for the invitation," Sasaki says before realising that he's already thanked her and the current reason he's over is not necessarily her invitation. "Uh -"

Her smile broadens, like a light laugh that she does not let herself make. "You needn't be so nervous, Sasaki-san," she says as she leads him down the hallway. "Despite what you have seen, we are not so complicated."

Sasaki opens his mouth but realises he doesn't know what to say. Thankfully, Hinami's attention is away from him. She raises her hand to knock on the frame of the door, a light tap-tap.

"Enter."

Hinami pushes open the shoji. Tsukiyama is seated in front of a table already set with coffee, a book on his lap. He's dressed much more appropriately for the weather, although Sasaki is starting to suspect he's not terribly enthusiastic about it. Sasaki turns to thank Hinami, but she's already halfway up the corridor, her steps silent on the floor.

A soft chuckle draws Sasaki's attention back to Tsukiyama, who closes his book to set on the table next to his coffee. "Come in, Sasaki-san," he says, motioning to the opposite side of the table. "I'm afraid my sister played a trick on you."

Sasaki blinks before crossing the room. So Tsukiyama considers Hinami his sister? That clarifies some of what Washuu had tried to tell him. Sasaki pulls out a seat at the western-style table and chair set. Sasaki is thankful for the style choice. There's something about sitting in seiza that always makes him more self-conscious. Perhaps it's because he associates it with formality. Tsukiyama watches him, but it isn't a particularly intense or intrusive gaze. He looks rather tired, if Sasaki was to make an assessment of it.

"What sort of trick?"

Tsukiyama picks up his coffee cup and sips. Sasaki mirrors him, taking a moment to inhale the aroma. It's a French roast, brewed very dark. That surprises Sasaki a little. He hadn't expected such a strong taste. He feels like whenever he's around Tsukiyama he spends a lot of time being taken aback.

"It's a little trick," Tsukiyama says as he sets his cup back down, his smile small and very sweet. "I surmise she told you something to put you at ease and then promptly said something that threw you off-balance."

Sasaki sets his coffee down, breathing out with a smile of his own. "Yes."

Tsukiyama hums, a low, toneless note. He settles back in his chair, head tilting slightly to the left. His hair is unbound, slipping around his shoulders and along his cheek. It makes the look that Tsukiyama levels him with is very hard to read. He doesn't seem upset or annoyed. Rather, it appears he is simply assessing. Sasaki lets him. Being what Sasaki is, he is used to being assessed. He looks back, sensing that he is allowed to. Tsukiyama has very unusual eyes. They are a very light brown that looks almost red under the current lighting. His colouring is very unique.

"Sasaki-san," Tsukiyama says, and it's the tone that Sasaki remembers him using when speaking with Washuu about his mother, "why did you accept my sister's invitation?"

Sasaki breathes out. Looks down. Both of them sit with their hands around their coffee cups. Sasaki's hands have calluses from martial arts and his quinque. Tsukiyama has thick writing calluses on his right ringfinger and the pad of his middlefinger. He also, Sasaki notices with some surprise, has numerous small scars on the knuckles and the flat of his metacarpals on both hands. Some of the scars are deep, particularly on his right hand. It's not the sort of thing that Sasaki would expect on a person of Tsukiyama's station.

Sasaki looks up. Tsukiyama is watching him, much like he watched Washuu when they discussed the Quinx programme half a year ago. The atmosphere around them has kept its warmth, though, so Tsukiyama is not angry or displeased. Rather, he is comfortable. He is someone who is very used to being watched. He uses these moments to observe just as much if not more. Sasaki knows, instinctively, that he cannot hope to lie to him.

"You've probably guessed what my superiors said," Sasaki says, rubbing his thumb on the handle of the coffee cup. "We really do need your support on the Quinx programme, and you made it quite clear in July that you aren't impressed."

A soft hum. Tsukiyama's lips curl, but it is not a smile. It's a very dark expression. It dims his eyes and casts a heavy shadow. 

"That's true."

He lifts his right hand. He noticed Sasaki looking. He tilts it forward, at an angle that indicates the deepest of the scars on his hands. It's a deeply pitted, discoloured mark over his forefinger's knuckle that tapers off to a small bit of knotted flesh between his fore and middle. It mars the symmetry of the connective tissue. 

"My grandfather broke this when I was seven."

Sasaki looks up. He knows that his alarm is painted clearly. Tsukiyama's expression doesn't help. There's a complete placidness about him. He could have been telling Sasaki about the weather. Sasaki's stomach rolls and clenches.

"You understand," Tsukiyama says, "why I do not share many of my grandparents' opinions."

Sasaki swallows. Nods. Tsukiyama places his hand back on the table, atop of his book. He smiles, soft, sweet, and very, very sad. Sasaki feels, for the first time, like he understands a little bit of why.

"But I do not hold it against you," Tsukiyama says, and it's just as gentle as it is sad. "I do hope that is not the only reason you came."

It's something of a relief to be able to shake his head. "No," Sasaki says, and he doesn't dare lie; "I wanted to come. My team needed a vacation, and I wanted to see you all again. I enjoyed meeting you last summer."

Oddly, the last part is what throws Tsukiyama. He blinks. The darkness that suffused him before dissipates. For a split second, Sasaki sees something that isn't Tsukiyama's very carefully controlled exterior. Surprise. A flash of disbelief. And, most curiously and alarmingly, some sort of pain. Tsukiyama is, however, very aware of that brief loss of self-control. The hand over his book tucks on itself, nails against the cover. He doesn't drop his gaze, but the light goes out of his eyes completely. 

"I have no use for flattery, Sasaki-san."

He doesn't sound angry. It's disappointment. Sasaki shakes his head. His heart starts to pound in his ears.

"No," he says, urgent and feeling the edges of desperation; he has to make Tsukiyama understand. "It wasn't the best way to meet, but I honestly did enjoy meeting you. It -" and Sasaki suddenly realises maybe he's about to be too honest but his mouth is already moving without his consent, "was really nice to be accepted at face value for what I am."

Tsukiyama stares. He's completely taken aback. It digs against something inside of Sasaki he doesn't understand, cannot acknowledge. Sasaki sucks in a breath. He ploughs forward.

"You knew what I was, but you and everyone in your family treat me exactly like everyone else. I know Hinami-san is probably still afraid of me, and Kanae-san probably doesn't like me, but that's fine. I would rather be treated like someone and not -"

It sticks in his throat. He's never said this much aloud to anyone, not even Arima. That he's saying it to Tsukiyama, who has perhaps more power over him and the CCG than Arima or Mado or pretty much anyone aside from the Washuu family: it's mortifying.

Across the table, something settles over Tsukiyama's face. He shifts slightly. It strikes Sasaki that Tsukiyama is rather tall. If he was healthy, his build could even be intimidating. He used to be -

"And not?" he asks. 

There's a hardness. It's what Washuu warned him about. Sasaki is trapped. He trapped himself. He walked right in because it was warm and welcoming. A large part of him doesn't care about walking back out. Sasaki wonders, not for the first time, what Washuu's relationship was to Tsukiyama's mother. 

"A liability," Sasaki confesses, something integral to himself cracking. "I'm a failed experiment."

 

**v.**

Mutsuki is sitting eating mochi and potato chips with Shirazu in the reception room when Sasaki gets back. They blink up him, still dressed in the clothes they left for the slopes that morning in. Sasaki tries to smile, but he knows that his eyes are red and his distress is too clear. The world feels like it's in fragments under his feet. He looks about the room, feeling lost and unmoored.

"Where's Urie?"

Mutsuki swallows a mouthful of chips. "Bathing. Are you -"

Sasaki shakes his head. He takes off his shoes, crosses the tatami without putting on house slippers, and sits heavily on one of the two empty chairs. He tilts his head back, breathing out a long, heavy sigh. The ceilings are very clean, wooden beams well-maintained and recently dusted.

"I had coffee with Tsukiyama-sama."

"Saiko mentioned," Mutsuki says, his tone very careful. "Did something happen?"

 _I told a major funder of our existence that I'm a time-bomb and a failure and then cried about it_ is not what he should tell his team. _He gave me his handkerchief and it's in my pocket_ is also not something he should tell them. 

"Don't let his appearance fool you," Sasaki says, and he knows he sounds more than a little hysterical. "He'll eat you alive with kindness."

A beat. "Okay," Shirazu says, drawing out the vowels. 

Sasaki sighs heavily, lifting his head up. They're both looking at him with copious amounts of caution and concern. Sasaki doesn't really have a way to fix that. He looks down at the food on the table. It looks like they bought out a FamilyMart. There's a large stack of chocolate CalorieMate that are unopened. Those must be Urie's. 

"Did he just buy CalorieMate again?"

"Uh," Shirazu says, very awkward, "yeah."

Sasaki shakes his head, feeling his brain rattling around in his skull. Even Saiko can only take a box of CalorieMate at a time. It worries Sasaki a little bit that Urie eats so much of that stuff. He says he likes it, which, coming from Urie, is a five star endorsement. But what Urie opts to eat is very narrow and very stringent, rather like how he conducts himself. It's not healthy, but it doesn't interfer with how Urie does his job. Sasaki doesn't know if it's appropriate to try and bring it up.

Sasaki breathes out. Lets his head fall back against the cushion of the chair. The beams above offer no solutions.

His head hurts.

 

**?.**

Kaneki is lying on his side in bed in his bedroom. He has a book lain open next to him. A translated volume of _L'Morte d'Arthur_. It has Japanese on right page, French on the left. There is writing in the margins on both sides, very small but very neat. It's not his writing.

"Tsukiyama-san."

"Mhm?"

He looks up from the book. Tsukiyama is sitting at the desk. His head is tilted. He's got his lips pursed together, the heads of several fabric pins poised between them. A black battlesuit is pooled on the desk and in his lap. 

A soft laugh. "You look really domestic like that."

Tsukiyama's lips quirk at the corners. He reaches up, bringing together his left fore and middlefingers to pull take the pins from his mouth. He holds the threaded needle in his right hand, the tail end looped around his ringfinger to keep it from slipping away. He smiles fully, left cheek dimpling.

"Do you," he asks, "like it?"

Kaneki snorts. "What kind of question is that?"

Tsukiyama shrugs. He motions with the hand holding the pins, drawing a small arch in the air. He's very relaxed. Happy, even. It occurs to Kaneki that he doesn't see Tsukiyama like this very often. It makes him wonder.

Is Tsukiyama happy?

 

**vi.**

Sasaki wakes up. 

He doesn't know what has woken him. He lies, blinking at the unfamiliar ceiling. It's dark. He can sense it's somewhere in the very early morning. He rolls out from under the futon, the room cool but pleasant. He would never be able to afford this type of ryokan.

He pulls in a coat as he steps out into the hallway. He can hear Shirazu snoring, the steady deep breathing of the rest. His hearing isn't ghoul standard or even as good as Saiko's, but it's enough. His team aren't what woke him. It sets his hackles up even as he notices:

There's a light on in the foyer. 

Sasaki pauses. He doesn't have any weapons here. Whoever it is was quiet enough to evade the senses of the rest of his team. It's also highly unlikely that they broke in, which narrows the possibilities of who it is considerably. Sasaki takes a deep breath. He takes the last couple of steps forward to slide open the shoji, his heart and a demand in his throat.

Kanae is sitting in the foyer. Sasaki's demand dies on his lips leaving him open-mouthed like a fish. He shouldn't be so surprised; after all, he'd just thought that there was a short list of people that could be here. It's Kanae's expression that throws Sasaki. Kanae surveys him with a cold expression to rival Matsuri at his worst. He's sitting in the chair Mutsuki was in earlier in the evening, right leg crossed over the left. His hands rest on his right knee. 

"Good evening, Sasaki-san."

Sasaki shuts his mouth. Grits his teeth. He steps into the room, sliding the shoji shut behind him. Urie has probably woken up now that Kanae has spoken. Sasaki hopes he has good enough sense to not come in. 

Kanae's lip curls, distasteful. "I'm sorry for coming so late," he says as Sasaki takes the seat opposite of him, the table with an unopened bag of pizza-flavour chips between them.

"You're very quiet," Sasaki says because he doesn't see a point in trying to be polite when Kanae so obviously simply playing at it.

The lip lifts slightly, showing just the edge of teeth. Kanae, Sasaki is suddenly very sure, hates him. Sasaki breathes carefully, steadily. He can't upset Kanae. He can't let Kanae see how unnerved he is. He absolutely cannot lose control.

"No, Sasaki-san," Kanae says, and it shows more teeth. "I'm selfish."

Sasaki remains silent. He has nothing to say, and he will not give Kanae ammunition. While Tsukiyama might have a gentleness to him, there's steel underneath that. Hinami is sweet and innocent, but Sasaki is sure she has her own strength that he hasn't had to see. He doesn't know Matsumae at all. Across the table, Kanae lifts his hands, sliding the ring off of his finger. He turns it so the small flat surface faces Sasaki. 

"Do you recognise this?"

It's the mon of the Minamoto house, which Sasaki didn't know a week ago until he was provided files that contained basic information about the Tsukiyama, Minamoto, and Ichinose families. So Washuu was right: Kanae is likely to marry someone from the Minamoto household. Sasaki nods. Kanae puts the ring back on, folding his hands back over his knee. His expression is cold again. If Sasaki touched it, he could get frostbite.

"You're a fool for coming," Kanae says, harsh and acrid and blunt, "and even more of a fool for bringing your subordinates. This world eats people alive."

For the third time since arriving in Sapporo, Sasaki feels like the ground is being ripped out from underneath him. He stares at Kanae, who glares back. He's condescending, hateful, and so, so sad. It makes Sasaki feel like he's burning. 

"Is that what you came to tell me?" he asks, even though he knows it's impolite, that this is not what he is supposed to doing at all. "That I've made a bad choice?"

Kanae's expression twists. He shuts his eyes. Clenches his jaw. He has a bizarre combination of poor emotional control and impressive physical restraint. Sasaki feels like he's watching someone being tortured.

"Yes," Kanae breathes, and something opens in his diction, an accent that he must have to work to suppress. "Your superiors will never stop using you for this. You are an asset. Maybe you feel like you're a family. Maybe that's true. But no matter how much they care about you and you about them or what your status is: you are only worth something so long as you remain useful." 

Kanae's fingers find the ring again. He looks down at it, twisting it. Clockwise, counter, back again.

"Our worlds are not so different," Kanae says, low and cold and honest. "For that, I'm sorry."

Kanae stands up. Sasaki does as well. He watches Kanae pull on his coat, gloves, hat. Kanae tilts his hand slightly, unconsciously, rubbing the flat of his thumbnail over his lower lip. He bites his nails. Sasaki walks with Kanae to the entrance, lingering back as Kanae put his shoes on and steps out the door. Kanae doesn't look back. He doesn't need to.

The shoji to the bedrooms slides open. Urie stands there, CCG coat over his pyjamas. It makes him look young and small. His team are probably all awake, just not out in the hallway. Urie blinks at him, tired but very aware.

"Was he telling the truth?"

Sasaki swallows. "Yeah," he says. 

In fact, that's what has been throwing him off. No one lies at all.

 

**vii.**

It's not that Sasaki doesn't trust his superiors. Quite the opposite. He trusts Mado. He trusts Arima. He trusts Washuu Yoshitoki. He trusts them to make the right choices. He trusts them with his life.

It's not, he understands, the same as trusting them with his team's lives. He's aware that no one really respects them. He's the only person who they can trust to treat them not only like agents, like assets, and like people. Sasaki is very aware that, to most of the CCG, they are not viewed as people.

"Damn," Shirazu mutters, "it's cold."

Sasaki smiles a little into his scarf. They're all caffeinated, and the ryokan staff provided a lovely breakfast for his team. Stepping outside, though, really drives home that there's no way to completely escape the winter weather. There's a couple of women that Sasaki doesn't know the names of standing in the courtyard that connects the series of ryokan. He recognises them from the day before. One of them looks up as Sasaki and his team step onto the stone path and snow. It's the woman with the strange, completely black winter kimono. Sasaki is able to tell that it's a different kimono all together.

She smiles, raising her left hand in a _come here_ motion. Silver flashes. She must be Minamoto Bunko. Sasaki's stomach clenches on that bit of insight. He approaches, listening to the corresponding steps of his team at his back.

"Haise Sasaki-san," she says, and it sounds amused but not exactly mocking. "I've been looking forward to meeting you."

Sasaki tries his best to smile pleasantly back, although he knows that his eyes give away his unease. It's impossible, considering what Kanae showed him early this morning. He starts to bow, but Bunko laughs, raising her hand in a motion to stop. Her wrist is very bony.

"No, no, none of that," she chuckles, and she grins with her entire face. "We are here as friends."

"'Ko!"

Sasaki is saved from having to come up with a proper response to that by the appearance of Tsukiyama. His appearance, however, does absolutely nothing to give Sasaki a handle on the situation, which, as usual, is quickly spiralling out of control. Tsukiyama makes his way over from his family's ryokan, dressed in a blue kimono with furisode sleeves decorated with pheasants and peonies. His hair has been done up with a silver hair ornament with hanging pearls. He is, as what seems to be Tsukiyama's habit, missing a scarf, gloves, and the other protective winter covering he probably should be wearing. Sasaki get the impression he's escaped something.

Sure enough, Minamoto points this out. "Shuu, have you escaped Matusmae?" 

"You were playing a trick," Tsukiyama says, completely ignoring the question as he comes to stop in front them all, somehow managing to look both disapproving and apologetic. "We're giving Sasaki-san and his team a terrible impression."

"That's -" Sasaki starts to say.

"Flower man!"

_You look really domestic like that._

Sasaki blinks rapidly. Hinami is exiting the ryokan, her lips pulled down in disapproval as she hurries over with a massive white fur muffler in hand. It matches the one she has on. It is almost certainly real fur. The look on Tsukiyama's face softens, although he looks nowhere near sheepish. Behind Sasaki, he hears someone snort. It's the furthest back, so it's probably Saiko.

Tsukiyama sighs, looking put upon. "Little princess," he starts even as he leans down slightly to let her put his muffler on.

"No," she says, very flat.

They scowl without heat at each other as Hinami ties the muffler's wide connective ribbon into a truly obnoxious bow. It's Sasaki's turn to cover his mouth with his hand to hide his smile. He considers it safe enough to look back at his team. Mutsuki and Shirazu has similar expressions of shocked incomprehension. Urie looks bored to the point of unimpressed. Saiko is not playing her handheld, instead staring with rapt attention at Tsukiyama. That makes Sasaki nervous.

A noise from Minamoto draws Sasaki's attention back. She's got her head tilted to the side, hands tucked into her furisode. The noise draws Tsukiyama's attention, too. The lightness to his expression slips away.

"So Shuichi will be attending."

Tsukiyama's expression doesn't change. "Yes."

Minamoto tsks. She tilts her head towards Sasaki. It makes her half-smile look even more lopsided. The woman accompanying her turns and walks back up the path, not looking back. Her footsteps are incredibly light on the stone and snow.

"Mhm," Minamoto hums, "you're two-thousand lightyears from home."

 

**viii.**

There are media cameras everywhere. Sasaki had expected it, but it still makes him nervous. He keeps his focus on making sure his team gets seated with the help of Matsumae. He tries to not pay attention to Minamoto, Tsukiyama, and Ichinose Shuichi as they make leisure talk in earshot of a couple of reporters. Mutsuki is the most uncomfortable in this sort of atmosphere, keeping his head down and very close to Shirazu, who keeps mostly in front of him until they're all seated. Minamoto returns to them to sit next to Kanae, leaning in close to whisper in his ear. Tsukiyama has his head tilted slightly forward to listen to Ichinose, who is standing extremely close. It is not Tsukiyama's eyes that Ichinose is looking at.

Next to Sasaki, Hinami has the look on her face that she had when she brought breakfast the second morning at the Tsukiyama estate. It looks placid at first glance, but it's extraordinarily strained. Her entire body is clenched, even though her hands remain neatly folded in her lap. She notices him looking, her lips pinching momentarily, before Tsukiyama and Ichinose finally break apart. Tsukiyama joins them, smiling pleasantly but eyes completely empty.

"It's rather chilly, isn't it?" he comments as he seats himself between Kanae and Hinami.

"Hell yeah," Shirazu says, rather loudly.

He realises his mistake. Claps his hand over his mouth. Sasaki throws him a sharp look while the rest of his team gapes. Urie looks ready to get up and leave right then and there. A series of rattling coughs pauses Sasaki's attempt to head a potentially explosively situation off at the pass. Tsukiyama accepts a handkerchief that Kanae hands him that he continues to cough into, but, after the intial onset of the fit, it's obvious he's also laughing. Sasaki turns back to give Shirazu a _we will talk about this later_ eyeball and an evil eye to Urie to stay put. This has the effect, unfortunately, of making Tsukiyama laugh and therefore cough harder.

Minamoto clicks her tongue. "Self-control, Shuu."

He coughs roughly. "Ikebana."

She sniffs, pulling her lips into a pout. "How cruel."

Tsukiyama wheezes, a very unhealthy sound, but shuffles with his obi briefly to extract his phone. He fiddles with it, breathing into the handkerchief before holding it out for Sasaki and his team to see. There are two ikebana arrangements set up side by side. Sasaki doesn't know much about ikebana, but he doesn't need to. One is extremely well constructed, clearly centred around a white camellia. The other, to put it kindly, is an explosion of clashing colours and overcrowding of plants.

HInami laughs, a very soft, bright sound. "Bunko-san, that's awful."

Kanae seems to stir himself out of the sulk he's fallen into, craning his head. "What?" he asks, and he sounds absolutely nothing like the person from early that morning. "How bad is it?"

Tsukiyama hands his phone to Kanae. His face splits into a grin. He looks young and interested and amused. Tsukiyama watches him with a very calm expression, but his hands rest on his lap, relaxed. Up on the stage, people begin to shift into position, signalling the opening ceremony is about to start. 

Sasaki sits back. He wonders if this is what a real family is like.

 

**ix.**

"Sasaki-san."

Hinami is walking next to him. They walking from the waiting area of an up-scale French restaurant towards booked rooms for lunch. Sasaki has turned his team out to their own activities, which he really does hope they'll take advantage of. This is supposed to be a vacation, even though now Sasaki knows they're all aware that it's also a display. It's important that they act like they're grateful and having fun, and if some of it is true, then that's even better. 

"Something is on your mind."

Sasaki feels his entire body falter. He bites the inside of his cheek, nodding politely in thanks to the hostess who shows them to the reserved dining room. She takes Sasaki's winter coat and Hinami's winter cover, and they remove their shoes before stepping onto the tatami. It gives Sasaki just enough time to regain his composure.

"Hinami-san," Sasaki says as soon as the hostess is out of earshot, "why did you invite me and my team?"

She smiles, a small quirk of the lips. She motions for Sasaki to take a seat, and they spend a long moment situating themselves with their backs to the wall and facing the door. Hinami doesn't look at him, her gaze down at her hands in her lap. She looks faraway and very sad. It reminds Sasaki of something that he just can't reach. 

"I appreciate your courage," she says; Sasaki understands it's in reference to his blunt manner of speaking. "It reminds me of better days."

She lifts a hand, touching her fingers to her hair just behind her right ear as if she mean to brush it away. Her hair is done up, though, and she ends up simply passing her fingers against it, tracing the shell of her ear. 

"I know you did not intend to lie to me," she says to her lap. "Your heart is in the right place. But even I know the programme you are involved with is research and development for the CCG. It's not and never will be a medical project. The promise you made me: it means nothing."

Sasaki bites his lip. He remembers well the promise he made back in July when Hinami came to bring breakfast to him and Mado. He made it in the heat of the moment without thinking it through. He hadn't had the time to think about how even though Washuu had said those things at the meeting the day before, it didn't mean that the CCG had any intention of using the Quinx project for medical research. Sasaki knows that he's naïve when it comes to political manoeuvrings. A part of him that is selfish doesn't want to lose that naïveté. 

Hinami looks up. Her gaze isn't accusatory. Her eyes are very clear. Her eyes, Sasaki thinks, are her most unique features. Aside from them and the innocence of her disposition, there's nothing about her physically that stands out. It's very different from Tsukiyama, who is extremely attractive despite his poor health. It's different from Kanae, who obviously puts a lot of personal effort into his looks and figure. Hinami's appearance is not her weapon.

"I did not invite you just to tell you that," she says, calm and gentle. "I thought it would be good if you knew what sort of people are interested in you."

Sasaki swallows. He thinks of Kanae and his ring and everything that implies. He thinks of how Kanae sits at Minamoto's side and of Minamoto's cold amusements. He thinks of that brief moment of vulernability in Tsukiyama, the pain that crawled up from under his self-control. He thinks, very uneasily, of how Tsukiyama spoke to Ichinose Shuichi and how covetous Ichinose's gaze was on the exposed skin of Tsukiyama's neck. Tsukiyama is having lunch with Ichinose. Hinami's expression softens, saddens. She can tell what he's thinking about. 

"I'm glad that you came," she says as footsteps start up the hall, recognisable voices filtering down towards them. "I am tired of tragedies."

 

**x.**

"Maman?"

Sasaki looks up. Saiko blinks at him from the doorway, duvet pulled around her shoulders. Sasaki breathes in deep. He doesn't try to hide how he's been sitting in the reception room, staring at his phone in his lap. 

"What's wrong?"

Sasaki breathes out. "I'm not sure."

Her head tilts to the side. She crosses into the room like that, sitting down on the couch opposite him and the table. She tucks her feets up on the cushions, pulling the duvet completely around herself. It makes it look like she's wearing an igloo.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Sasaki looks at her. She stares back. Saiko, unlike the rest of the Quinx, has living family. A mother who only cares about her children for money. A brother she isn't particularly close to but doesn't hate. She is also the only Quinx who has no particular hatred of ghouls. In a lot of ways, she has no reason to. All of the world's cruelty to her has been at the hands of other humans. Yet, unlike Mutsuki, she doesn't fear them. Out of all the Quinx, Saiko has the best perceptive abilities because she is not impeded by hate or fear.

"Yes," Sasaki starts, and it comes out as hesitant as he feels. "What do you think of the Tsukiyama family?"

She blinks, slow and languid. "Honestly?"

Sasaki nods. She looks up at the ceiling. The quiet stretches for a very long time. Her expression doesn't shift, but her eyes flicker. Thinking.

"The boy," she says, and Sasaki knows she means Kanae, "has a major brother complex. I bet that's a big reason why he's going to marry Minamoto-sama."

Sasaki blinks rapidly. "How did you get that?"

Saiko smiles a little, still looking at the ceiling. "It's not hard to see. He makes it super obvious whenever he looks at Tsukiyama-sama."

In truth, Sasaki doesn't see it at all, but he's well-aware he isn't really good at spotting that sort of thing. It's bizarre from Sasaki's point of view, but it does put some level of logic over why it's Kanae who is being used as a marriage pawn and not Hinami. Across the table, Saiko shifts, leaning deeper into the couch.

"I don't think Hinami-san is really their sister. She's too different. You can tell by her diction that she's not used to speaking formally."

This Sasaki had surmised, too. "Washuu implied that she may have lived in a different environment at one point."

"Mhm," Saiko hums, and she looks at Sasaki, half-lidded. "She's smart. That's why Tsukiyama-sama gives her more autonomy than the boy. He really seems to care about her whether or not they're blood-related. But -"

She sits up again, pulling the duvet tight around her shoulders. Sasaki tenses. Saiko is frowning. It's a real frown, not a pout.

"Tsukiyama-sama is really manipulative. He knows exactly how to get people's interests and how to string them along. I'm sure he cares about them, but they both treat him like they owe him something." Saiko shrugs, expression bland. "Maybe they do. And it's not like we're free of it either. He might not have a way with words, but Kanae-san is right about that."

Sasaki nods. He agrees with everything Saiko has said. He looks back down at the phone in his hand, at the blacked screen. If he was to tap it on, Arima's personal number would show up. He feels uneasy and uncertain, and he had been wondering if Arima would be able to help him put some of these feelings into perspective. Stop the tilting feeling. The déjà vu.

He puts his phone back in his pants pocket. Sits back in the chair. Across the table, Saiko sinks into the couch. Closes her eyes. Sasaki is the only person she trusts enough to sleep around. And that, more than anything, decides.

Sasaki trusts Arima with his life. He doesn't trust him with Saiko's. With Mutsuki's. With Urie's or Shirazu's. They're not Arima's. They're Sasaki's. 

Sasaki needs to make the right choice.

 

**?.**

The evening news plays on mute in the background. It's talking about preparations for the Tenjin Matsuri. Kaneki has no interest the report. He feels wound tight, his body both too big and too small. His heart pulses in his throat, making breathing difficult.

"Hey."

Tsukiyama looks away from the television, his head tilting curiously. It's late enough that his hair is beginning to escape his styling, strands falling over his forehead and brushing his eyebrows. He blinks, expression calm and unguarded.

"Hm?"

Kaneki leans over. Tilts his head slightly. Tsukiyama's lips are still together. They take a moment to part, allowing Kaneki in. Kaneki likes that. It's the only part of Tsukiyama that doesn't expect to come first, despite how Tsukiyama has indicated that he has past experience. For a long moment, they kiss lazily, long breathes accompanied by leisurely movements. A very slow waltz.

Carefully, Kaneki reaches up. He places his hand around the back of Tsukiyama's head. His hair is soft and thick, no sharp edges at all. It's been a few weeks since his last haircut. In a bit of curiosity, Kaneki curls his fingers and pulls lightly. It earns him a huff, something between indignation and amusement. Kaneki draws away just enough to meet Tsukiyama's gaze. 

"Bold."

It's warm. Relaxed. Happy. It calms the squirming, awful thing in Kaneki's chest. It makes Kaneki smile back. 

"You like it."

Tsukiyama breathes out. A laugh. For a moment, Tsukiyama is completely open. He's soft, sweet, and very, very happy. It makes Kaneki feel happy, too.

When Tsukiyama is like this, Kaneki trusts him.

 

**xi.**

"Tsukiyama-sama."

It takes him a long moment, but Tsukiyama looks over to Sasaki. Sasaki steps off the porch, the stone path covered in a light fall of day snow. Tsukiyama is standing underneath the tree that Sasaki found him taking pictures of the day before. He isn't taking pictures this time. Sasaki watched him from the window walk up to it instead of going to his family's ryokan and stare into the branches for almost ten minutes now. As Sasaki draws up next to him, Tsukiyama blinks, long and slow. His cheeks are flushed. His nose is pink from the cold. He looks worn out.

"Sasaki-san," he says, and there's a very unhealthy lethargy to his diction. "How was the coffee at lunch?"

Sasaki smiles a little. "It was very good, thank you," he says before he lets himself drop the act. "You have been standing here a long time."

Tsukiyama's gaze drops. His hands are tucked into his sleeves, scrunching the intricately embroidered silk. He gazes at a space between him and Sasaki, long eyelashes blinking sluggishly.

"I have, haven't I?" he says at length, although he does not lift his gaze. "I got lost a bit in thought."

Sasaki folds his hands behind his back. Parade rest. He breathes in, the chilly air palpable in his lungs. It can't be good for Tsukiyama's.

"A penny for your thoughts?"

Tsukiyama blinks again. He looks up. Sasaki is glad for that, even though Tsukiyama's eyes are dull.

"You are not too cold?"

It makes Sasaki laugh a little. "Aren't you?"

Oddly, Tsukiyama smiles, although it does not reach his eyes. "That's not how you play," he says, a gentle teasing tone. "You should say, 'Yes, I am,' and use that as your chance to take this conversation into a domain of your choice."

Sasaki shakes his head, making sure not to smile. He meets Tsukiyama's gaze, letting his hands come to rest at his side. Where Tsukiyama can see them.

"I'm not really interested in those kinds of games."

Tsukiyama watches him. It makes Sasaki realise what colour Tsukiyama's eyes are. They're the colour of drying blood. A murky maroon. 

"You aren't," Tsukiyama agrees.

He turns his gaze away. Back up into the tree. Sasaki continues to watch him. A very cold breeze picks up. Blue silk flutters, making low swishing sounds.

Tsukiyama breathes in, very deeply. Sasaki waits.

"When I was twenty-one," Tsukiyama says, and it is so soft that Sasaki almost misses it, "I made the mistake of falling in love. I knew I shouldn't have let it happen, but those few months..."

He unfolds his arms. He lifts a hand to the tree branch closest to his head, wrapping his fingers around one of the small twigs. Sasaki watches him tap at it, causing snow and the tiny icicles to break off and fall between them. The motion and angle makes the sleeve slide back, exposing his wrist and upper forearm. Tsukiyama watches the snow and ice fall, gaze dull but not faraway.

"I was stupid," he says, lips twitching but not forming any further expression. "Star-crossed lovers kill themselves in the end."

He lets his hand fall. He tucks his hands back into the sleeves. He tilts his head back to look up into the tree, looking through the branches to the cloudy, overcast sky.

"Snow reminds me of that bittersweet time we shared."

 

**xii.**

The book Tsukiyama has been reading is an dual English and French language academic text on _Le Viandier_. Sasaki can't help but raise his eyebrows as Tsukiyama hands it to him. They are having coffee in the reception room of the Tsukiyama family's ryokan.

"You're interested in cooking?"

Tsukiyama chuckles, picking up his coffee cup. "Yes. Well," he clarifies, a bit ruefully, "I used to think I was quite good at it. I'm not allowed to nowadays."

Sasaki frowns slightly, opening the book to the front matter. "Why not?"

Tsukiyama sips his coffee, returning the cup to the saucer. "I am sure," he says with a very clear measure of resignation, "you have noticed my family's opinion that, while I may be otherwise very capable, I cannot be trusted to take care of myself."

Yes, Sasaki has noticed. He also kind of agrees. Tsukiyama gazes at him for a long moment in which Sasaki witnesses Tsukiyama shift from resignation to balefulness. It makes him look much more his age. It makes Sasaki want to smile, and he knows he doesn't completely succeed in hiding it.

"No," Tsukiyama sighs, and his expression is so close to a pout that Sasaki has to smile. "Oh, honestly, really?"

He sighs, long and put-upon. Sasaki grins, looking back down at the front matter of the book. His grasp on English isn't stellar, but he must have not been terrible at it at some point in the past. He cannot understand the French, though, so he has to assume he never learned it. It was written in 1988, published by the University of Ottawa. Sasaki looks up, just in time in time to see Tsukiyama yawn. He has his mouth covered, little tears forming at the edges of his eyes. 

"Oh," Tsukiyama sighs, blinking a few times to clear his eyes, "sorry. Shuichi-san is always very tiresome."

Sasaki feels his expression freeze despite himself. Tsukiyama doesn't appear to notice. He's turned his attention to his obi, fingers slipping under the front to extract a handkerchief. It's not at all proper for him to store one like that, but Tsukiyama doesn't seem to be terribly concerned with propriety in this. He dabs at the edges of his eyes, the pale cloth picking up the small tears and a little mascara. He frowns at the grey stains. It's the most openly displeased that Sasaki has ever seen him. He sighs at it before folding the cloth over so that it doesn't end up staining his obi or kimono as he slips it back into his obi. 

When he meets Sasaki's gaze again, Tsukiyama's expression is a little curious. "Are you interested in cooking, Sasaki-san?"

Even though that isn't really what Sasaki wants to ask about, he'll let Tsukiyama redirect the conversation. "Yes," he says, and he chuckles a little. "I can't eat it myself, but I love cooking for my team."

It makes Tsukiyama smiles, the small one that actually moves up into his eyes. "Would you like to borrow that?" he asks, indicating the book in Sasaki's hands with a nod as he's put his hands around his coffee cup. "The recipes are not, of course, to modern tastes, but it's very interesting and would perhaps provide you with some new ideas. I used to quite enjoy toying around with the suggestions for meats."

Sasaki blinks. "Used to?"

A soft laugh. Tsukiyama looks a bit rueful. Maybe nostalgic. He picks up his coffee cup, left hand steadying the wide cup from the bottom. It's like he's afraid of dropping it. He gazes deep into the dark liquid like a fortune teller with tea leaves.

"With my health, I have a hard time with rich things," he confesses; his expression has an undeniable bitterness to it. "I don't taste as well as I used to either. But -" and his lips twist, knowing and hard, "there's nothing that can be done."

The world tilts.

 

**?.**

What are you asking of me, Kaneki-kun?

If you just think about it for a bit, there's nothing that can be done!

Kaneki Ken!

 

**xiii.**

The ceiling light is very bright. 

"Sasaki-san!"

His head is swimming. There's a shifting of fabric. The touch of fingertips to his forehead. They're callused.

"Sasaki-san, can you hear me?"

Sasaki groans. He blinks, the world seeming to flicker in and out. Tsukiyama leans over him, wide-eyed. His hand rests on Sasaki's forehead, like he's checking for a fever. Sasaki stares up at him. Tsukiyama -

"I know you."

Tsukiyama goes completely still. Except for his eyes. They widen even further, pupils dilating. They flicker back and forth, searching Sasaki's face, tracking Sasaki's eyes. It makes him look like someone. His hand is still on Sasaki's forehead. The furisode brushes Sasaki's cheek, soft and light and barely, barely there.

"I know you," Sasaki repeats, the world rippling, spinning, slipping, "don't I?"

"I -" Tsukiyama starts.

He chokes. His pupils contract. His eyes shut. The hand on Sasaki's forehead becomes heavier. Not painful or pushing but present. The pain that surfaced before is painted over his face, his neck, into his very being. There are small tears forming at the edge of his eyes. It will make his mascara run again.

He opens his eyes. The tears escape. They paint thin tracks on his face, moving through concealer and foundation. Tsukiyama is very pale. It makes his eyes very, very red.

"No, Sasaki-san," Tsukiyama says, and Sasaki can see how much it costs him; "We do not know each other as we are."

Sasaki opens his mouth. He wants to protest. But the world lurches, spinning wildly.

Sasaki rolls onto his side. He thinks he vomits.

He blanks out.

 

**xiv.**

He is lying on the floor. His head is cushioned by a pillow. Tsukiyama is in the process of covering him with a warm blanket. They smell like something faintly sweet, so they must have been specifically perfumed for someone. 

"Tsukiyama-sama?"

Tsukiyama looks up from where he's tucking up Sasaki's knees. His eyebrows raise. There's a pale smudge next to his left eye. The whites of his eyes looks a bit red. Has he been crying?

"What happened?"

"You," and there's a very brief pause, like Tsukiyama is startled, "fainted."

Sasaki feels his heart sink. "Oh," he says, sounding as muddled as he feels.

The shoji slides open. Matsumae enters bearing a tray with a teacup and teapot filled with hot water. She does not comment on the situation before leaving them alone again, but Sasaki can't help but feel like he is imposing.

Tsukiyama notices. "You are not," he says. "What sort of host would I be if I, of all people, held fainting against a guest?"

Sasaki accepts the hot water that Tsukiyama pours him, sipping it gingerly. "Are you prone to fainting?"

Tsukiyama blinks. His expression shifts to something akin to discomfort. He apparently hadn't been paying full attention to what he was saying. He does something very complicated with his hands, passing his fingertips over the fabric of his furisode and front of his obi. He plays with his hair when it's unbound, Sasaki realises. It must be a self-comforting habit.

"Not recently," he says.

He looks down. Sasaki can denote the exact moment that Tsukiyama realises what he's doing with his hands because he clasps them neatly in his lap. It's exactly the same mannerism that Hinami and Kanae have. Enforced self-control. Sasaki can understand why fainting must be a sore point for Tsukiyama.

"I'm not usually prone to fainting," Sasaki says after taking a sip of water. "But it happens sometimes. It's nothing to be concerned about. I just check with a doctor when I get back to Tokyo."

Tsukiyama looks up, expression openly concerned. "Are you sure? You -" and Tsukiyama drops his gaze, some embarrassment showing through. "You threw up a bit earlier."

Sasaki grimaces. That explains the odd taste in his mouth. How uncool. Tsukiyama looks at him again. He appears to be attempting a reassuring expression, but it's not very good. It's too wide-eyed and imploring. It actually makes him look vaguely comical, like he's mimicking something he's only ever seen on other people's faces.

"You didn't ruin your clothes," Tsukiyama says.

As soon as he says it, his face screws up. Sasaki coughs on his water. Tsukiyama breathes in deep and then out in a sigh. He reaches up and presses his hand left hand to his face, rubbing his knuckles against the bridge of his nose.

"I didn't, did I?" Sasaki says, only lightly teasing. "Which is really fortunate because I only have so many change of clothes."

Tsukiyama shakes his head. He catches Sasaki's gaze. For a moment, there's such a softness to his gaze. He smiles. It is soft, sweet, and very, very sincere. It makes Sasaki feel very warm.

 _Oh,_ Sasaki thinks. _Oh, no._

 

**xv.**

"Flower man."

Shuu looks up. He's still fully dressed, sitting next to the heater in his room. He has his laptop open in front of him. Hinami recognises the eighteenth page of the CCG Quinx Programme contract. It lists the monetary compensation offered to those families who allow their children to undergo the experiment.

"Little princess," he says, and his diction is sluggish; he's worn out and upset. "Did Sasaki-san make it back safely?"

Hinami nods. She crosses the room to sit next to him. Up close, she can see that he had cried at some point enough to disturb his make up. She reaches out, slipping her fingers down the front of his obi to extract the handkerchief she tucked in there this morning. It already has a small stain. Hinami keeps it folded in half as she uses it to smooth out the set of his concealer and foundation, rubbing gently at where the mascara has smeared. 

"Does he remember?"

Shuu breathes out. His eyes drift back to the laptop, fingers resting on the down and right arrow keys. Hinami folds the handkerchief into quarters, setting it to the side.

"No," Shuu says.

He looks to her. His eyes are very clear. Hinami takes his left hand. They twine their fingers together.

"He's there."


End file.
